Bilgrotts Cove
by etherian
Summary: Severus Snape survived the Final Battle. He is now married (to Poppy Pomfrey), and is the father of a 10 year old daughter - Abigail Absinthe Snape. A little bit of whimsy that began on Professor Snape's Tumblr blog.


_**a/n: On Tumblr, Professor Snape has a blog that features artwork of Severus Snape, Slytherins, and images from the movies. The small story behind the blog is that the Potions Master lived with the help of Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape finds that he no longer has a Dark and a Light master to kow-tow to and so he retires from Hogwarts after two years. After he has proposed marriage to Poppy Pomfrey. Poppy is seven years older than Severus and for many years she used a sophisticated Glamour to age her so that she had the respect of many students she had been a student with.**_

 _ **The blog has entries to Professor Snape's Journal. A recent ANON asked for more scenes of father and daughter, Abigail Absinth Snape, together. This is what I wrote... I went a bit more in-depth than usual.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy!**_

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 **14 July 2012**

It has been quite awhile since I have written anything about Abigail into my journal. Other aspects of life I have done so... not so much my own daughter. Abigail, now ten (the year being 2012) my most talented (and rather Slytherin-ish) child found my journal and removed the spell that protected it from being read by those who should not. Fortunately, the little reprobate was discovered by her mother who dealt with my more... _passionate pages_... with a degree of aplomb I would not have possessed. I admit I am still not pleased that Abigail is now apprised of her father's ardency towards her mother... what did surprise me was that she demanded more stories about herself.

"Papa, the last thing you wrote about was my fifth birthday. Wasn't I interesting after then?" Abigail inquired in that way she manages to pout without actually doing so (knowing I do not care for that manipulative behaviour).

"Of course you have been, child," I replied as I looked up from a book I was reading during our evening time.

"Then you should have written more about me," she chided, and now that blasted cherub did pout. "Was your trip with mama to Hogsmeade last week to go to the Fresh Market really all that interesting? She just kissed you a couple of times." And there, dare I say it, was a hint of jealousy.

Of course, Poppy had to let on that she was listening behind the pages of her book with a small bark of laughter. I ignored the annoying woman, put down my book, and indicated that my daughter should join me.

Abigail is ten, as I mentioned, but still of a height in which she is not a burden upon my knee should she take to my lap. He cheek is nearer for me to bestow a kiss, these days. Abigail is just slightly under 1.3 metres (54 inches) and weighs 5 stone (70 pounds). Poppy and I have finally acquiesced to Abigail's preference to not have her hair bound by ribbons or braids or any such style. Her hair is a striking raven black with blue highlights in certain light. The colour had a bit of her mother's honey burnishing areas but that appears to have vanished in favour of the black in the last two or three years. My daughter's hair falls perfectly straight down her back to her waist in a markedly obedient fall that moves with her. Tangles are rare to non-existant since her Accidental Magic manifested strongly in her sixth year. I quite suspect her own magic is keeping her hair so smooth. Recently, a witch we passed in our weekly visit to Diagon Alley, whispered such magic was "Dark".

The whispers, the slurs directed towards my character even after all these years (and a few of my oldest journal entries) have led me to having to explain to Abigail what my past had been. With her mother holding her, plenty of tissue nearby, I revealed to her the story of Voldemort, the Dark Lord. I told her and explained my role, how I came to the truth of the Dark Lord's hypocrisy, the horror he visited upon my best friend Lily, her husband James Potter, and their son, Harry.

Of course tears emerged. I expected Abigail to be disgusted with me, yet she was not. I could not help it, for such forgiveness even from my wife, still puzzles me.

"But, Papa," Abigail began by climbing onto my lap and slipping her arms around my neck. "You aren't a bad man. Not anymore. You saved Harry, his friends, and lots of your Slytherins."

"So many lost their lives during the Final Battle, my girl," I said with soft asperity. "I did not do enough..."

Abigail interrupted sharply, "But you did! You told me that all the children, not just your Slytherins were 'treasures beyond measure' and that you always tried to do your best. And," she whispered as if still protecting my old secret life, "you were a spy that nobody could know about. Harry Potter knows now that you aren't an evil Death Eater."

"He ought to by now," I replied a bit too sharply.

I was uncomfortably reminded of my 'last hours' in the Shrieking Shack where I met Death; where I gave Harry Potter what I had thought to be his own death sentence. My memories showed him that he was to die by the Dark Lord's hand, but I had also given memories of his mother, Lily and I, in our youth. I escaped Death's embrace by being hidden by my friend Lucius but when it was revealed I was alive, it was Harry Potter who kept me from trial and humiliation by speaking for me before the Wizengamot.

As an apology for my harsh tone I pulled my daughter close in my arms. Into my ear she whispered strongly, "You aren't evil, Papa, because you're my papa, and that just means you're not bad. I love you and it doesn't matter what all those other narrow-minded, idiots say."

I hugged my girl tight, and kissed her smooth forehead. 'Out of the mouths of babes, oft times come gems.'

I Summoned my journal, my Never-Ink quill and Abigail settled herself beside me in my chair (which I surreptitiously enlarged to accommodate her). "What should I write about, darling child?" I inquired in mock purpose as I posed my quill above the journal page.

"Uhm..." Abigail tapped her chin with her index finger and squinted in thought at the blank page. I remained frozen. Suddenly, her face brightened. "I know, Papa! You can write about the first time you and Mama took me to see the ocean. I love hearing that story."

I nodded slowly and recalled that memory. Since I did not write immediately, Abigail nudged my arm. "Hold your patience, my girl," I warned. "I am simply thinking."

"But I want you to write now, Papa," Abigail huffed.

I glared and Abigail's back hit the back of my chair as she crossed her arms over her chest. She glared, too, and I smirked and began to write...

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 **Severus' Journal Entry, 14 July 2010 -**

Abigail's birthday is in the Winter, 22 December, so Poppy and I have found that it is easier to have a small celebration; a family vacation, during the Spring or Summer. We had a picnic in the centre of a stone henge previously, that Abigail and Poppy declared as being very spiritual. I will admit that I discovered some plants I had never seen on the British Isles before.

Abigail had not, yet, seen the ocean and I was to discover that Poppy's own experiences did not include the seaside. Therefore, the birthday family outing would be the beach.

Prior to our adventure Abigail asked countless questions in regards to 'what is sand like?' 'can I pick up lots of shells?' to 'is the water cold?' Questions, that when they became annoying, our daughter left me, and asked her mother. Poppy, of course, was no more enlightened about the beach than her daughter was. Poppy, though, did not leave Abigail without answers. A shopping trip to Diagon Alley included a stop to pick up a book that was all about beaches. Upon her first sight of a lighthouse, Abigail declared that we 'had to go visit a lighthouse'. Our destination, I decided, would be the hidden wizard island just a few miles from Godrevy Lighthouse on Godrevy Island.

Bilgrotts Cove was the wizarding village that had the beach where we would stay. There was only one entrance to Bilgrotts Cove and it was accessed by approaching a cave within the stone island of Godrevy.

The water is turbulent there, which makes for a great way to hide the cave. Only a wizard upon a magically charmed boat is able to approach Godrevy and navigate to Bilgrotts Cave. Any Muggle that tried would crash into the rocks around Godrevy Island.

Many wizards and witches will feel the wards keeping Muggles away from the cave as a slight tingle of awareness of magic. A sensation very similar to when one travels from the London side of Diagon Alley into the magical alley itself. Once the wizarding boat is through the turbulent surf and within the darkness of the cave the boat docks near a rocky landing area that really has no distinguishing mark. The wizard sailing the boat will cast a spell to reveal the ghostly form of wooden planks, a dock, that leads from boat to shore.

Beyond the landing is a large boulder, about five feet in height that is solidly sunk into the layer of pebbles and the sand beneath. After tying off the boat the captain will jump off his boat, trot over to that boulder, and tap it with his wand. A shimmering oval of magic reveals the entrance to Bilgrotts Cove.

Stepping over the threshold of the entrance transports the visitor about twenty miles to the south of Godrevy Island. My mother, Eileen, managed to take me once to Bilgrotts Cove; at the same age Abigail was. I recall gathering up my courage and asking my mother if my new friend, Lily Evans, could come with us. To my delight, my mother agreed, and while my father was away looking for work, myself, Lily, and my mother went to beach.

It had been Bliss.

Abigail had been thrilled with the boat ride on the choppy seas, despite having a little bit of tummy trouble at the turbulence. A Stomach Soother settled her stomach and the rest of the trip was, to her, smooth sailing. The cave entrance held no real fascination but Abigail, who had never been exposed to such a threshold as the oval of magic into Bilgrotts Cove, it was something to appreciate with awe, and a certain amount of trepidation as she stepped through.

Bilgrotts Cove is built with a sort of tongue-in-cheek nod to an old world seaside village built of shanties and a maze of planked trails through the village. Poppy has observed that it appears as though time stopped at the 1880s for Bilgrotts. I was rather reminded of Sweethaven from the old Popeye movie I wound up watching at a Muggle matinee theatre show with Abigail when she was four. The movie, a musical, was a favourite of Abigail's and she told me and her mother that someday she intended to live in Sweethaven.

I have, since our trip to Bilgrotts Cove, believed that Abigail may one day settle in that whimsical little village on the ocean.

Abigail laid her hand upon mine to stop my writing. "Do you really believe I'll live there someday, Papa?"

I tapped the end of her nose with the end of my quill. She giggled. "Has someone not been telling myself and her mother that she plans to raise kneazles in Bilgrotts Cove? Every... Summer... since your eighth year?"

Abigail nodded. "I think I should have a shop just like Eyelops Owl Emporium but I'd specialise in kneazles."

I nodded, kissed her forehead and resumed my writing.

Bilgrotts Cove has one main street with several tributaries that lead to the port or to the homes of those dwelling and working in the seaside village. Abigail goggled at all of the stores, shops, and vendors we passed on our way to Segars Boarding House; one of five such abodes for the tourists.

Abigail instantly won over the affable, plump, and kindly Alicia Segar. Both Poppy and I were reminded of Molly Weasley but for a silver pair of glasses that were propped up on her hooked nose.

Alicia Segar was pleased to tell us that she had retired some 30 years ago from teaching at Bilgrotts Cove's little red schoolhouse. The woman then babbled happily to Abigail, telling her about the wonderful beach and how wizards of long ago had warmed the ocean. I, of course, was curious about the sort of life in a warm temperature ocean as opposed to the cold waters that surrounded Godrevy Island. That is when I learned that Gannon Segar was not simply an accomplished artist of the sights of the village but he had once been an UnSpeakable scholar with a strong interest in the flora and fauna of Bilgrotts Cove's ocean. I would, not only that year but subsequent ones, speak at length to the 82 year old wizard who had his own interest in my profession of Potions.

Abigail pleaded to skip her afternoon nap because everything in Bilgrotts Cove was calling to her. I was not ready to descend upon the village and so I sent my wife and my daughter to visit the main street (a thoroughfare only for pedestrians). I intended to read but the bed in mine and Poppy's room was simply too inviting... I slept.

Abigail interrupted my writing with a clap of her hands, "And Mama and I found you when we came back to the boarding house." She giggled teasingly, "And! Papa was snoring!"

I gave the wicked child a terrible glare and a strong harrumph as I corrected, "I do not snore, you little troll!"

Poppy came up behind my chair at that point, kissed the top of my head, and chuckled, "Of course you've never snored, dear husband." She then smoothly moved towards the kitchen. "Time for hot chocolate," she sang as she vanished into the kitchen.

"I want double marshmallows, Mama!" cried Abigail. She then turned to me and pointed at a new blank page in my journal. "Go to the beach, Papa. That's the good part."

"Indeed it is," I agreed and began to write once more.

After an over indulgent breakfast we left the Segars Boarding House to head down to the beach. Now, it must be noted that the beach is considered to be next to the busy port that welcomes wizarding ships from all over the world. There is an ingenious divider, a wall perhaps, of wizarding wards that allows water and underwater life to flow unimpeded. Patrons of the beach are thus protected from shipping traffic.

I brewed a Sunscreen Potion for my daughter's sensitive skin (she takes after her mother, in that respect, so they share) which she and her mother both now wore. I did not use a sunscreen as strong for my skin has rarely reacted negatively to the elements.

The beach was moderately populated that day with tourists, and some families that lived in the cove. We chose an area several meters from the wall that had a bit of privacy from the other bathers. I erected a small dressing tent that was enhanced by wizarding space, but not to the degree of preferred, luxuriant tents. It was, after all, simply to allow us to disrobe and don our swimwear.

Here it ought to be noted that although growing up Muggle, the few times my mother took myself and Lily to Bilgrotts Cove, we wore swimming suits that were modern at the time for Muggle children. As an adult I have long been content with the wizarding fashion of swimming costumes for wizards that consisted of a form-fitting, or slightly loose shirt with 3/4 sleeves that had a hem that fell to mid thigh. The trousers were generally a bit less form-fitting (with the appropriate modesty charm in place) with hems that dropped to just below the knees. I had not planned upon venturing into the ocean despite its warm waters, but Poppy and Abigail convinced me that... I had no choice but to join them in the water.

Therefore, my costume was of one colour, black. (Did you think otherwise?)

Next to me my daughter leaned against my arm as she blew her breath across the marshmallow heavy surface of her hot chocolate. A small giggle escaped her.

Poppy, whose clothing tended to reflect the Edwardian fashion of Muggle days, wore a bathing costume that was quite complimentary to her figure. A soft lemon yellow top that fell to below her waist was joined with a flirty skirt that was also lemon yellow. The hems of top and trousers (just falling to mid-thigh) were decorated by artful ivy, flowers, and small woodland creatures hiding behind the leaves. She eschewed the bathing cap and chose to wear her hair in a soft bun that promptly fell loose the moment Abigail (no, it was not me that did such a dastardly thing!) dunked her.

Abigail wanted to wear a more modern swimming suit influenced by the Muggle-born children but Poppy, who is rather an adherent to the wizarding fashion, dressed our daughter in a swimming costume of forest green with silver embroidery. Later, when Poppy was busy with our picnic lunch, Abigail whispered to me that she really liked her swimming costume.

Abigail piped up, "I really do, Papa! It was so pretty, and Mama's bought me some really pretty ones every time we go to the beach." She tapped my journal. "My swimming lesson, Papa. Are you going to write about that?"

"Ohhh, but Abigail, that would bypass our beach picnic," I bemoaned the slight with a smirk.

"It was just sandwiches and I fell asleep," my daughter pouted. "Besides, when I woke up you and Mama were kissing again." She pulled a face of distaste.

"Has your mother had the talk with you about the 'Birds and the Bees'?" I said with a bit of teasing accusation.

"Of course she has, Papa!" Abigail declared. "Don't you remember I asked you where babies came from when I was eight and you told me to talk to Mama?" I glared. Abigail then smirked sharply. "It's got nothing to do with Birds and Bees. So, write about my swimming lesson?" she ended with a polite suggestion, and a winsome smile she only used to get her way.

I sniffed in affront, rolled my eyes, then flourished my quill. "Swimming... with... Abigail..."

The sun was high in the sky over the hidden wizarding village of Bilgrotts Cove located to the south of the Muggle island Godrevy. A wizarding wall protected swimmers from the languid port where wizard ships came to drop off goods or to pick them up. The swimming area was further marked by a natural outreach of the rock opposite the port that stretched out before abruptly turning. At the end the stone became a small rise, or small mountain if you wish, that arched upwards like a rainbow until it fell back into the sea.

Of course, Abigail does not swim, and... unfortunately neither do I. Poppy does, though, and had a habit of swimming the length of the Black Lake at Hogwarts. She is of a rare handful of witches and wizards that are not troubled by Grindylow and the MerFolk. The Giant Squid likes everyone - it is likely a Hufflepuff.

So it was that Poppy would teach Abigail how to swim, and I would be the proud father watching from the waters' edge. That was my plan but devious Abigail with the collusion of her mother soon had me doing an unflattering dog paddle in water up to my neck.

One must remember that it is the ocean in which we are in and therefore the water is in constant motion. It is not of the turbulence that surrounds the Muggle island of Godrevy. Abigail floated perfectly, and beautifully upon her first try. As for me? I sank like a stone. Certain, I was, that drowning would be my next feat that I left the water in high dudgeon. Of course, my little family, splashing happily in the waves, laughed at my concerns.

With me watching from the shore, and her mother close by in the water, Abigail conquered the waves and brought them under control as she began to swim. Rather like a fish, to be honest. She most assuredly would take after her mother in needing to swim on a regular basis.

Poppy swears that someday she will teach me to swim, and I am always quick to reply, 'only when that Potter boy stops flying on a broom'.

We spent a lavish vacation at Bilgrotts Cove where Poppy and Abigail swam the waves each day, and I managed to collect a touch of sun. We ate out, morning, noon, and night. Abigail and I visited a toy store while her mother was fitted for a few Summer dresses by the local seamstress. Abigail was on her own... nearly... on our last evening. Minerva McGonagall, whom Abigail fancies as her grandmother, Floo'd through to babysit while Poppy and I went out to dinner, and then dancing.

Since then, Bilgrotts Cove is a yearly vacation for all of us. Abigail is more determined than ever to be the proprietress of her own Emporium of Animals. She tends to settle on just kneazles, then she wants every possible familiar there is. Lucius, long since reconciled with his wife (who left him after his Death Eater trial) joined us the last time we visited. Narcissa found a veritable treasure trove in the seamstress that always had a dress or two for Poppy and a local jewellery store whose specialty were the blue pearls found in the ocean of Bilgrotts.

We have promised Abigail that when she begins at Hogwarts, we shall still keep our Summer visit to Bilgrotts Cove. Until then, Poppy will be passing on her secrets of the Grindylow and MerFolk of the Black Lake so that she can swim there on a regular basis.

I closed my journal and sent the Never-Ink quill back to my desk. My beautiful daughter was curled up against my side where she slept; a winsome smile of mischief upon her lips.

~SS

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 _ **a/n: If you wish to visit Professor Snape's blog you will find it at masterseverussnape dot tumblr dot com.**_


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